


Gluttony

by Angelike



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies)
Genre: Bad Spanish, Fluff, Foul Language, Innocent!Peter, Jealous!Caspian, M/M, One Shot, Sappiness, Short Story, Spanish!Caspian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-27
Updated: 2008-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelike/pseuds/Angelike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caspian's coronation ball gets that much more exciting when a Telemarine noble dares to make the moves on Peter; he belongs to Caspian alone, whether Peter himself realizes it or not!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gluttony

**Author's Note:**

> This story assumes that the Telemarines were descended from Spanish pirates. It was written mainly because people were demanding more Spanish!Caspian after "Speaking in Tongues." Unfortunately, **_I speak no Spanish whatsoever_**. I have never studied it (awful, I know, and if I could go back in time...), so all Spanish phrases used herein were yanked from online and probably make _absolutely no sense_. Several friendly Spanish-speakers have attempted to help me clean this up, but there are so many variations of the Spanish tongue that it's hard to please everyone.
> 
> Since it would be logical to assume that the Telemarines would adapt their language to suit their situation, lets just blame my mutilation of the language on that, yes? My apologies to anyone whose eyes burn after such a lame attempt at Spanish.

Even as his councilors were murmuring their sage advice as to how the remainder of his coronation ball ought to be spent in order to best boast his image and popularity amongst the as yet dubious elite of the Telemarine court, the newly crowned king's mind wandered. True, Caspian was nodding and smiling and frowning in all the right places and seemed, in general, to be quite involved in the conversation, but that was an act born of years of feigning interest during the long and dreadfully boring court sessions his uncle had required him to dutifully attend as the Crown Prince and heir; in reality he was merely going through motions, and making a convincing show of it, too. It was nice to know that deceitful fraud had taught him _something_ useful.

Whatever would his self-appointed advisors think if they discovered his interest laid less with the eligible young ladies currently shooting coy glances his way or the identities of his most avid supporters and detractors, and more with a boy with baby blue eyes, an unruly mop of blond curls, and a notoriously short temper? Sure, it was important to know whom could best satisfy his political interests and whom he had best avoid, lest he find a knife in his back, but how could anyone think of such things when the object of your growing affection was just across the room and unknowingly sending out ... signals. The kind of signals that could get a pretty youth into a great deal of trouble.

Caspian shifted uneasily on his thrown as he watched the laughing beauty leave the relative safety of the presence of his angel-faced younger sister and standoffish brother to approach the hors d'oeuvres table, all too aware of the fact that his eyes weren't the only pair following the unwitting visitor from the Other World. His anxiety was _not_ alleviated when one all-too-familiar young man decided to do more than watch: Alejandro Reyes y Pimental, the bold and wealthy Conde de Olivares who was just a few years his elder and had long boasted a well-known reputation for his playboy attitude.

Well-known by everyone by the four visiting royals, that is.

His fingers clenched the armrests of his throne in a vice-grip, straining not to rise and go rushing to his would-be lover's rescue, struggling to convince himself that Peter was a lot more mature than he looked and not nearly so innocent as one would guess (how innocent could one possibly be after ruling as High King of Narnia for neigh on fifteen years?), but when the boy accepted the proffered glass of champagne from the entreating noble with a shy smile (and _¡__Dios mío!_ [1] was that a _blush_?) he knew it was a lost cause. The Old Narnian court consisted of talking beasts, fauns, and other non-humans. There wouldn't have been much need for rules of flirtation or seduction.

The Conde was going to eat that boy alive.

He hissed through his teeth, eyes narrowing dangerously as that _hijo de la gran puta_ [2] ever-so-gallantly led the boy-king along the table, his hand resting unnecessarily low at the small of Peter's back as he guided him, leaning in just a little too close in order to speak softly into his ear and whisper things that made the youth duck his head bashfully and pink becomingly.

Caspian's blood boiled.

The kicker, of course, came when Alejandro paused in front of the chocolate-covered strawberries, a favored Telemarine dessert – oft shared between lovers. The way he dared to trail his fingers teasingly down one soft cheek as he coaxed Peter to try one of the sweet berries, to wrap those succulent lips around the juicy morsel held inches from from his lips and, mayhap, around the noble's slender fingers as well... It was unconscionable...!

“Your Majesty? Your Majesty are you quite well?”

Caspian jerked his eyes from the scene of his outrage, and found that at some point he had jumped to his feet, apparently startling the councilors terribly.

“Your Majesty?”

The conflicted king pursed his lips, glanced back and forth between the faces of his worried elders and the cornered object of his affection, who was – at last! – starting to look uncomfortable with Alejandro's zeal and over-attentiveness, and swallowed thickly. He shouldn't get involved. He needed to present a strong face before his people. Who would ever take him seriously if he behaved like a jealous and lovesick idiot during his own coronation ball?

And then Alejandro somehow managed to back Peter against a pillar, entrapping his startled prey with a satisfied smirk. He was wasting no time in leaning in for the kill.”

_Bastardo! _ [3]

Peter shot a panicked glance his way, and suddenly his hesitation seemed very foolish indeed.

“_Les ruego me disculpen_, [4] gentlemen,” he said with a hurried bob of his head, “but there is some very urgent business demanding my immediate attention.” Then he was marching off, ignoring the strange glances and hurried bows and curtsies of the courtiers as he passed, and gearing up for battle.

Alejandro's lips were already on Peter's by the time he had crossed the great hall – a fact the noble would know cause to regret. Of course, _he_ wasn't the only one deserving of his ire: Peter merely stood there, wide-eyed and frozen as the older man assaulted his mouth, his lack of resistance only encouraging his over-eager paramour. Why did he not react? Did he _want_ to be devoured?

Filled with barely-suppressed rage (Peter was _his_, whether he realized it or not!), Caspian grasped Alejandro's shoulders and forcefully jerked the man away from his prize with a hissed, “_¡La hora del recreo ha terminado!_” [5]

A hush settled over the ballroom.

Alejandro turned, jerking out of his grasp and very nearly struck him before realizing his error, almost too late. “Sire,” he gasped in horrified astonishment, lowering his hand and dropping to his knees in apology; the late King Miraz had executed his subjects for less – and there was no way for him to know that his successor would be more merciful. “_No entiendo_... [6] Have I displeased you? Forgive your humble servant.”

All too aware of the curious eyes on him, not the list of which belonged to Peter, he choose his words with caution: “You, sir, have shamed this court with your uncouth behavior towards High King Peter's royal person.”

“But, my lord! He did not spurn my advances!”

Caspian's eyes narrowed, and the accused lowered his eyes, bowing low. “Peter,” the king said icily, meeting the blue eyes of the shell-shocked boy, “did you encourage the Conde de Olivares' attention? Did you wish him to touch you in the manner of lovers?”

“No!” Peter exclaimed, pale-face flooding with color as he shook his head vehemently. “If I caused him to think otherwise, it was not intentional! I merely thought he was being friendly – that it was the way of your people to be so tactile...” He adverted his gaze, voice lowering to a mere whisper, which Caspian had to make out: “_You_ touch me like that, after all...”

Alejandro looked up, clearly startled, and paled.

So, he'd heard as well. Good.

“As I thought,” Caspian declared, “a misunderstanding.” Sternly, he considered the lord at his feet. “Your ignorance led you to seek companionship where you were not welcome. I will let this offense slide, this once, but I trust you will show more prudence in the future?” And not go poaching in on your king's territory, he finished silently, but Alejandro caught his drift just the same.

“Yes, Majesty. Of course.” And, accepting the hand Caspian offered, Alejandro rose to his feet, bowed deeply, and hurried off to nurse his wounded pride in solitude. Caspian might have felt a little sorry for him, had he not turned to find Peter staring after him whilst rubbing his pleasure-swollen lips.

_¡Cabrón! _ [7]

Forcing a smile, Caspian addressed his audience: “I hope you will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but I fear I have been lax in my duties as host and find myself needing to give King Peter a few short cultural lessons.” And, hoping the mutterings that followed this announcement wouldn't hurt him in the long run, Caspian grasped Peter's wrist and proceeded to drag him from the great hall, in search of a more private place. They needed to _talk_.

Peter was surprisingly docile as he led him away, offering little by way of resistance and only speaking once to inquire after their destination as they weaved through the abandoned halls of the castle. This uncharacteristic meekness was, perhaps, what saved him from a complete tongue lashing when Caspian at last pulled the younger man into his private study. All the frustration that had been building within him as a result of Peter's blindness in regards to his feelings was rising to the surface and had Peter questioned his desire to speak – alone – his simmering outrage would surely have boiled over.

As it was, Caspian was on the edge.

_“¿Por qué?” _ [8]

“Caspian?” said Peter at the sound of his friend's broken whisper. He reached out to offer comfort, but found himself rebuffed as the elder youth danced out of his grasp to put the writing desk between them. “What is it?”

“You are a stupid boy,” Caspian growled, “if you truly have to ask me that.”

“I don't understand.”

Caspian glared, but quickly softened at Peter's lost expression. “No, you really don't, do you?” He sighed. “I suppose this is my fault, for not speaking plainly, but I was raised in this court and am accustomed to more subtle ... pursuits.”

“Pursuits?”

“Yes, _mi rey_,” [9] he said with a wry chuckle. “Pursuits. I have been seeking your affections almost since the first moment I saw you – though, I confess I wanted to kill you just as much as I wanted to kiss you those first few days. A more insufferable man I have never met! You didn't make things easy for me.”

“I-I–” Peter stammered distressingly. “I'm sorry. I didn't know. Well, not really. Okay, sometimes I thought, maybe, that you were looking at me like you wanted me, but I couldn't be sure. I mean, you looked... _hungry_.” His voice was rising in level and pitch and Caspian decided there was nothing more adorable than a babbling High King. Never had he look so uncertain – in need of guidance. “But I wasn't sure whether you wanted _me_ or wanted _eat _me. That came out wrong. Oh, dear. I just–”

“Peace, Peter,” Caspian interrupted at last, taking pity on the poor boy. “Peace.” He smirked, eyes smoldering. “You weren't wrong to think I wanted to eat you, because I do. Just not in a cannibalistic way.” He leered. “What a waste of succulent flesh that would be!” Peter flushed and shakily lowered himself into the desk chair. “Why, I would much rather devour you over and over again...” His voice hardened and, with a sneer, he finished: “Much like that rubbish _Alejandro_, I expect.”

“Caspian...”

“Did you honestly think his intentions so innocuous?”

“Yes, at first,” Peter sighed, nibbling his lower lip nervously. “But by the time I realized my mistake, I had noticed you were watching me. And, then, I didn't mind so much. Because I wanted to know – had to know – whether you desired me the way I desired you. What better way to find out than to try to make you jealous?”

Caspian blinked, taken aback. “You would let _that man_ put his mouth on you just to see if I would react?”

“Heavens, no!” Peter exclaimed. “I didn't think he was going to _kiss_ me! I was so surprised that I didn't know how to respond! I say, are _all_ Telemarines so forward? Because in my world, no one would _think_ of kissing on the first date, much less upon a first meeting!”

“Well,” Caspian replied dumbly, “_I_ haven't kissed you yet, now have I?”

Then, almost petulantly: “Well, why haven't you?”

“_¿Podrías repetirlo, por favor?_” [10] Caspian croaked. “I don't think I heard you correctly.”

“Look,” Peter scowled, “we've both just confessed that we have _feelings_ for each other. Traditionally, this is the part of the story where we share a kiss of true love or some such nonsense. Unless you want to angst over why a relationship would be an utterly bad idea for a while, which would be an utter waste of good make-out time, don't you think? Someone's bound to come looking for us at some point.”

“But,” Caspian said slowly, wondering where the naïve boy he had been so concerned about had disappeared off to, “I thought you said you didn't kiss on the first date.”

“Yeah, but let's face it: we've been engaged in a twisted sort of foreplay since we first crossed blades. I think we're well beyond the flowers and sonnets stage. And besides: that jerk stole my first kiss. I want his taste out of my mouth _right now_.”

“Oh, right,” Caspian nodded. And that was when his shock wore off and his hormones decided to speak up: _You dope. You've practically been handed a written invitation to ravish him. What are you waiting for?_ So, without further hesitation, he rounded the desk, grasped the front of Peter's dress-robes, and pulled his soon-to-be-lover from his chair and in for a soul-searing kiss.

He was careful, at first: for all his bluster, this _was_ only Peter's second kiss (a truly baffling thought, that, but there would be time for questions later) and so this embrace was awkward in the usual manner: bumping noses, too much spit, and some confusion as to what ought to be done with hands. But they were both very determined and soon found a comfortable rhythm and a taste of ecstasy. A taste wasn't enough.

“Idiot,” Peter panted against his mouth. “I won't break. _Touch_ me!”

“Ah, _mi rey_,” Caspian groaned, “you make it very hard for a man to be honorable!”

“To hell with honorable!”

A taste would never be enough.

“I will sate your hunger and mine,” the king swore breathlessly, burying his face in the soft locks of his own lord and master, “just not here or now. A quick fuck on a stone floor is hardly worthy of your magnificence.” Never mind that neither of them were quite ready to jump so suddenly to the next level of their relationship, which was a very real risk if Peter kept writhing against him...

“You're never going to let me live that down, are you?”

Caspian chuckled at Peter's peevish expression at the reminder of his less than modest initial introduction and set about the task of putting them both back to rights. It was time to return to the party, to face reality – and the impending wrath of his councilors.

With Peter on his arm, the prospect didn't seem quite so bleak.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the part where I, once again, remind you that I don't speak Spanish and all words in phrases used in this story were found online. If you can think of something more appropriate to be said, please let me know!
> 
>  
> 
> [1] ¡Dios mío! -- oh, my god!  
> [2] hijo de la gran puta -- son of a bitch (or something to that effect)  
> [3] bastardo -- bastard  
> [4] les ruego me disculpen -- I beg you to excuse me  
> [5] ¡la hora del recreo ha terminado! -- playtime is over!  
> [6] no entiendo -- I don't understand  
> [7] ¡cabrón! -- f-ing bastard  
> [8] ¿por qué? -- why?  
> [9] mi rey -- my king  
> [10] ¿podrías repetirlo, por favor? -- please repeat that


End file.
